All of the Fish
by Geekies
Summary: There's someone in France's house, but who is it? And what do they want? A lot of FrancexUK, but does that mean that UK is the person in France's house? Human and country names used, sorry.
1. Blue Acara

**Disclaimer: Hetalia isn't owned by me.**

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Two twenty eight in the morning, this time pisses France off. Why could it not be two thirty? He undid his tie, letting it drag on the floor beside him as he made his way into the kitchen. He swore he had turned off the light before he went over to England's house, but it was on. He no longer paid it any mind and spun his tie around his finger, wrapping it around his refrigerator handle and pulling it open. Instead of praising his new-found door opening technique, he cursed at his quick and senseless thinking. His tie had ripped, and he promised himself that he would never do such a thing again.

He took out a bottle of milk and began to drink it, not bothering to pour it into a cup. Who came over any way? That's right, everyone did, but they wouldn't notice. What's the worst that could happen, complaints of stubble hair in their Yoplait? Oh please! France jumped at the sound of a sharp crash. Glass falling. He called out to see if anyone was there. No reply. He shrugged it off and guessed that his poodle, Parfait, broke another glass. He did it on the daily, though it was usually in the afternoon.

"Parfait, tais toi," France sighed, peeking around his house in an attempt to find his poodle. Parfait was in his room, fast asleep. Worried, he searched for what had broken. It came as a huge shock to him that it wasn't an expensive vase that he barely cared about, but a window that was broken. The strange part about the window was that it seemed to be broken from the inside. Lovely, someone was in his house. At first, he planned on darting out the door and taking his ass back to England's house. Then he thought that someone was being extra kinky tonight and setting up a scene. That had to be it. He whistled, looking for his kinky midnight criminal—damn it even sounded hot—but he found no one. Giving up, he plopped down on his sofa, "Okay cherie, you may come out now."

No reply, "Alright Russia, you're quite the creeper tonight."

No reply, "Belarus?"

Still no reply, "Okay, if you're trying to scare me, oui, I am scared, and I'm going elsewhere thank you. You got me, now paix, paix." He leaped up and grabbed his keys, a stern look on his face. France had decided that he was going back to England's house to show whoever that making the man you're trying to seduce piss on himself didn't work. He tried to avoid the dark areas in his house, but he was destined to come across his hallway, a long walk in the dark indeed.

As he made the trek down his hall, he tried to remain calm. His shoes clomped across the tiles that he could barely see, even with the faint moonlight glowing in through the only window in the hall. He had designed the hallway to be dramatic, so when he would storm down the halls, angered by worldly happenings, his angry stomping would be louder. It certainly was loud, especially in the silence. Heaving a sigh, he told himself that he was being silly, and that the broken window and the light on in the kitchen had only been over-exaggerated in his mind. Some past lover probably threw a rock at his window while passing by in their car again and it just seemed as if it was broken from the inside—-it happened more often than one would think.

His calming assurances were soon dispelled when he heard another _clip-clop_ on his tiles. He didn't dare turn around; instead he walked faster towards the end of the hallway. Damn it, the hallway was only the middle of his voyage out of the house. The other pair of footsteps sped up twice as much, and France couldn't help but whimper. He swallowed and nearly began running, but whoever was behind Francis wasn't concerned about keeping pace with him, and was almost a couple of steps away.

Knowing he was caught, France turned to the culprit hesitantly, "Why are-Seychelles?" In less than one could say a three syllable word, Seychelles had stabbed France with the weapon she carried, a simple knife from the kitchen. However, France was not dead apparently, for he was screaming at the top of his lungs, "God save me! Seychelles-" Displeased with the noise he was making, Seychelles repeatedly plunged the knife into him until the floor was stained with red and the Frenchman made sounds no longer.

She held the knife at her side, smiling wickedly at the corpse below her, "I've made this a hard case to solve, so no one will ever know, Francey." Making sure not to leave finger prints, she made the scene seem as if more than one person broke in; the window, the other window France had failed to notice, and the door she walked right into the house from. She chuckled, because the best part was, she had broken into his house three days ago, and had been staying there in secret ever since.

Seychelles passed by France's body again before heading out of his home. He was bleeding all over, but for some reason it was not enough for her anymore. She glanced down at the knife in her hand; it gleamed in the dim moonlight from the lonely window. She bent beside him, wondering what she should do, then she got it. She plunged the knife into him again through his natty dress shirt, watching blood form around it. Slowly the weapon carved pictures into his clothed back, pictures of kittens and bears which were supposed to seem cute, but the blood seeping from the man's back made it quite disturbing. Bored with pictures, Seychelles tore away at the back of his shirt to see the damage she had done. Unsatisfied, she began to peel skin off of his frame, using the knife to work her way through even the muscle.

She had never seen so much blood, not even from skinning fish. More was what she wanted. The knife was guided to France's neck, but the guide hesitated, only for a second however. Cutting through his neck proved difficult for such a weak knife. Seychelles had to hold down the head with great force—disregarding the fact that she very well may have been making fingerprints—shifting the knife as if cutting the face out of a pumpkin. Blood was everywhere, oozing out of the neck, squirting even, and Seychelles made note to take a long shower when she got back home. Unable to cut any further with the knife she had, she gave up and pulled the knife out of France, only to puncture him again at the top of his skull. Observing the blood dripping out of France's head as the knife was forced out pleased Seychelles into grinning madly. She stood in the pool of blood that had formed for a long while, admiring her handiwork, and eventually began laughing herself silly. When this plan came to mind, she thought she wouldn't be able to do it, but now that she had done it, she found herself wanting more of this feeling. Oh what was it? God-like? Yes, something like that. She smiled wickedly and decided that next on her hit list had to be another "old friend" of hers. Who would catch her right? Who in the world really knew Seychelles, or thought of her as a murderer? That's right, no one. She told herself that she was a perfect killer, and she very well could have been.

_**A/N: Spoiler; France dies. Oh wait.**_

_**I wanted to upload this, but I didn't. It's kind of old and poorly written. But I really wanted to write something that wasn't happy happy yay yay yay! I mean, I wanted to write a story rated M NOT for porn. Maybe I'll add the second chapter.**_


	2. Green Discus

_Fish, Fish, Fish. Big fish, small fish, constantly annoying fish, why don't you get caught in my net? On my rod? Afraid are you? Why so? All of you die any way, sooner or later. What do you do? You die. Humans are like fish, think about it. Plenty of fish in the sea right? So what gives you the right to live? The feeling that you're better? I'm sure there's another one of you, so why you? In a group, we all look so similar; no one will notice you're gone. And if they do, they can join you._

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Once again, a phone was ringing off the hook at Arthur's house. For some god awful reason, everyone was calling him to tell him that Francis had been murdered, and it seemed that he had suffered a miserable death. He hadn't believed it the first time, or the second. Third. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth. Eventually, he was called by Ludwig, who was asking him if he was okay, because he knew that they had been close. It was at this call that Arthur finally asked, "Who did it?" There was silence on both lines, though in the mind of the Englishman, so many thoughts were passing through and they filled his head with noise. Was Francis okay? Was this all one big joke? If it's Ludwig calling, who's often serious about everything he does, then this must really be…

"They don't know yet. They thought that fingerprints should have been everywhere with cuts like those, but I guess the murderer even cut their fingerprints out of the skin?" Arthur stopped the German from saying anything further. He would no longer take such sick lies, so with an abrupt good bye, he swiftly placed his phone back on the line and unplugged it from the wall. He dared not call Francis, because though he denied the frog was even dead, he didn't want to be proved wrong with the answer of some investigator or…he didn't know. Before he decided to turn off his cell phone, he stared at his wallpaper. It was a picture of Francis asleep with little drawings of dicks and hearts on his face, which was always the result of sleepovers with Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio.

He chuckled at the screen, sighed, then pressed one on speed dial. The phone rang, and rang, and rang, until he heard the familiar voice of Francis saying, "I'm not here right now, but if you really need me, call Arthur and maybe you'll catch me!" In the background of the message was Arthur himself yelling, "Don't tell people that you git!" There was a pause in his world for a long while, long enough to only restart when the operator lady asked, "Are you still there? Sorry you are having trouble. Please try again later. Good bye."

Arthur figured that Francis was simply not by the phone or something. Yes, that was it! Just because he heard sirens…earlier…meant nothing! Wait, he heard sirens? No, he must have been making that up. People imagined things like that when they were in denial-denial? He was not in denial, and he was about to call Francis again and rip his head off for not answering his phone the first time. Jerk. The phone rang again, still no answer. Arthur pressed two on speed dial, ignoring a call from Toris since he knew the man would just be ranting about Francis and giving silly apologies. This was Francis' house phone, so Arthur thought that maybe, just maybe, Francis had left his phone else where in the house. Still no answer.

"This is bullocks," the Briton yelled as he stampeded out of his doorway. They were damned neighbors, he'd just walk over. The sight of Francis' home instantly caused him to stop however. There were people going in and out of his house, men in suits, police, medics… One man yelling, "Why the hell didn't you answer the phone? Unprofessional!" He tried to run inside, but a man in a trench coat stopped him, looking him up and down.

"You're England?"

"Yes, yes I am, now let me through!" The man shook his head, "Listen, we're uh…checking out the scene you see, and I can't have anyone outside of the forces in here."

Arthur shoved his way into Francis' home, "Like hell you won't let me in here." Everything seemed normal, except for the people all around the house. The trench coat man was yelling at him and chasing him down. Luckily, he knew Francis' home very well, and hid in a secret closet, which of course, the man didn't check, and lost sight of him. When the close was clear, Arthur hurriedly followed a man rushing to something in the house. He wondered what in God's name had Francis done this time to have all these weirdoes at his house. Upon entering the hallway, he found his answer, the answer he had been fearing and denying.

On the floor, sprawled out with fear coating his countenance altogether, was the man that Arthur had been so close to. Bathed in blood, served upon tile, and light from the only window shining upon him as if to mock the very image of the murder, was Arthur's dear Francis. Mutters came from the foreigner in the room, words of utter madness dropping from his lips, which if anyone could hear him, they would recognize that he had been reciting the lines of a hymn to keep himself in disbelief. As his feet shuffled closer, Arthur found Francis right in front of him, and the people around his body tried to ignore the outsider's presence. He fell hard to his knees onto the tile flooring, a shaking hand reaching out to touch his darling's blood-stained face. A woman yelled in jumbled French and English for him not to touch him, but he hardly listened to her and felt the cold skin at his fingertips.

"Dear God this isn't him." The investigators and workers glanced up at the intruding man. "This isn't Francis!"

One of them held up Francis' ID, confused that Arthur would say that the victim wasn't Francis when it obviously was. He pointed to the ID and the horrid cadaver's face, "Francis. Man is Francis, oui?"

"No, no! It's someone else!" Arthur quickly stood and looked away from the corpse on the floor, "Francis? W-Where are you?" His voice echoed loudly in the hallway, the only sound in the house since everyone was silently staring at him in confusion. The man with the trench coat walked briskly across the hallway and grabbed onto Arthur's arm, "There you are! Why'd none of you report an interference when you saw this guy?"

"Let me go!"

"Sir, we not know boy not allowed."

"Let me-!" Arthur fell out of the man's grasp, right onto the body of Francis, whose head fell more forward than it had been, his back feeling as if it were going to collapse. He looked down at him, fully seeing the damage done to his love. The cuts, a head half way loped off, blood seeping from Francis' clothes into his, oozing from-well saying cuts was an understatement. Deep slices, splits- goodness he was like a pig drained of blood!

"Dear God! Dear God!" Arthur flailed around on the body, which was leaking blood everywhere. "Please please! Get me-Dear God! Francis! Help me!" The frantic cries of Arthur greatly confused everyone, and they did nothing but stare; except for the man in the trench coat, urging the man to take his hand so he could get him off of Francis and out of the house, but he was ignored. Wide-eyed and mentally stuck, the Briton whined and looked over Francis again, producing shaky deep breaths. Almost instantly he started babbling something quickly and began bawling uncontrollably and screaming at the top of his lungs.

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Two days had passed since France's funeral, which had saddened England, mostly because his body had been in such a devastating condition that they had to close the coffin for the whole ceremony. So no one had actually seen the body, except England that is. He had wanted the world to see France's body, because he suspected someone at the funeral to be the murderer, and he wanted them to see the sick deed that they had done. Whoever it was, they didn't need to see France's poor state; seeing England was enough to send any healthy nation on an extreme guilt trip.

He was, to simply say it, a mess without France. His clothes went back to the sloppy cloths that he'd wear before having his friendly run-ins with France; his hair was more unkempt than usual. His expression was pained, rueful, and distracted, as if he was thinking of past events in his life, and most would recall that the lot of England's life was mostly filled with France. Wars, politics, happiness; it was all France the majority of the time. So with these thoughts booming through his head, little Northern Italy offered England to call him if he ever became lonely without France. At the time, the offer was accepted for the sake of being polite, but when he arrived at home, England made sure all of his phones were unplugged or turned off.

When would he get over this exactly? He knew not, but when he did, he'd label himself as a horrible person, yet he was supposed to—expected to—move on. A wavering sigh escaped him as he fell to his couch without even taking a glance to see if anything unnecessary was on the couch. If France was there he would have done so, he thought. Was the bastard really so important to him? No way! He realized that apparently he was.

Night came faster than he expected, and truly, it was odd to him. Tonight he was supposed to stay at France's house, so in the bottom of his heart, he was lonely. Not just the bottom of his heart; his hands that would often be clasped in France's hands, his hair that always intrigued France enough to play with it, his emerald eyes that would earn him a compliment from France, all of it. Every piece; lonely, and wanting France there again. Every inch of him, missing his dear Francis.

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Between the lonely thinking, Arthur found himself at the door of his beloved's home. They had exchanged keys long ago, and he always carried the key to Francis' home, so he wandered inside after unlocking the door and shuddered at the deafening silence and the soft blowing of the cold night wind.

He made his way to the hall where Francis' body once was. There was an almost invisible stain of blood on the floor, but Arthur saw it, the dim light from the lone window seemed to be directing attention to it.

"Francis," his voice echoed through the hall, creating an empty feeling inside of him. He trudged through the home, peeking in the rooms to see if Francis was actually just hiding, and it was all a big, realistic, and absolutely disgustingly sick joke. No, this was reality. As he stepped into Parfait's room, he noted that he'd have to pick up the damned dog from…from wherever he was being held. He'd take care of the poodle, probably as if it was Francis himself.

Walking into the last room was like walking into a room full of depressed people who moaned in sadness at the sight of the room they spent so much of their time in. Wait, that was the description of Arthur at that time. Quickly, he decided that he'd stay the night at Francis' home for what he believed would be his last time doing so. He gathered many of Francis' belongings and threw them on the bed with him. The overwhelming calm scent was the only reason he couldn't bring himself to break into tears.

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Arthur awoke to the sun shining in his face, but he wouldn't allow himself to get out of bed. He was cuddled up with some of Francis' things, and just the sight of them made him feel warm inside. He hugged the pillow that had his love's scent. Taking a satisfying whiff of it, then recalling something from last night. It sounded like a generic cliché in a high school girl's failure of a story, but he had a dream about Francis. But it wasn't a dream about the two of them skipping through meadows, it was just Francis, screaming at him, but no words were coming out of his mouth. He shook him and slapped him around a bit, then finally pointed to a door. He found no meaning in it, so he let it be, but he was glad that he had a pretty clear picture of Francis, enough to see him in his dreams.

After taking his last walk around Francis' house, sitting on the floor of the hidden closet, and peeking through some of the pictures in his album, Arthur bid Francis' home farewell, and walked back to his own solemn home. It was unlocked as he supposed he'd left it, and the TV was still on. It helped him feel less lonely with that silly talking, but soon the channel newscasters came on, and of course they were talking about Francis. They thought he was attacked by Belgium? Really now! That seemed unlikely to Arthur, but he had learned to expect the unexpected a long time ago. He watched Belgium saying that she would never do such a thing as she was shoved into a police car, then he decided to lock his door. Crazy bitch probably would have gotten him too if he had been enticing enough for her.

He changed the channel to a nice cooking station. Ahhh, how to make scones. He hoped everyone was watching it; if everyone made scones then he figured that they would become popular around the world. He was sure Francis had hated them, but every now and then, he had seen him enjoying a couple. He never said anything of course, but it was something he kept to himself that made him feel happy about his cooking.

Just as he was becoming relaxed on his couch, about to doze off even, he heard something shuffle behind him, then a very unfamiliar tune, "Chop chop chop chop, all the fish in the pot." Like any sensible man, he looked for whoever was singing in his house. He was supposed to be alone after all. He wasn't expecting to see Seychelles in the next room, staring at him, knife in hand.

Arthur jumped off of his couch and stood poised for…well he wasn't sure, but she had a knife, and that was a sure sign for him to be alert, "Dear God what the hell are you doing here?"

Seychelles chuckled a bit, "Are you lonely Arrrthur?"

"It's England to you, and I'll ask again; what are you doing here?" He was going to add the knife to the question, but settled for glancing down at it.

The knife shined in Arthur's glum house as Seychelles lifted the knife slightly. She giggled as Arthur backed up a bit due to his instincts, "Aren't you lonely without Francey? I know the two of you couldn't keep your hands off of each other, couldn't stay away from each other." She cackled horribly as she raised the knife further, causing Arthur to back away more.

"Seychelles, I'd love to know why you're away from your home. If I remember correctly, it's quite far, so why come out this far?" Arthur shifted further from the armed girl, who could only smile, "To go to Francey's funeral of course!"

Arthur paused for a while, thinking back to the day of the funeral. He had watched everyone, saw all of their expressions, and took note of them. Through Toris' tears, Ludwig's frown, Lovino's slight smirk with a bit of a pained touch, and many of the other guests, all obviously quite upset, he did not remember Seychelles, and he hadn't noted that she wasn't at the funeral. He had forgotten about her, but he knew that if he had seen her then he definitely would have remembered. She was supposed to stay on her island at all times, supposed to stay away from the mainland so she couldn't gain anything from anyone. Francis had pretty much stated that Seychelles was their possession, an island that held the name of France and England, but an island that could not have anything they had. Seychelles had agreed with this, so it was a shock to Arthur to see her standing in his house, knife threatening him he assumed.

Finding that Arthur was realizing that she wasn't supposed to be there at all, she snickered and began walking toward him as he continued to back away from her, "See, I'm tired of living the life of some poor ignored girl," she began, "but don't get me wrong, I don't want any money."

"Well then I suppose you can escort yourself out of my presence then," Arthur shuffled toward the door, but to his dismay, Seychelles maneuvered herself in front of it.

"Now now Arthur, you think all anyone wants is money?" She slowly began to walk towards him again, "I don't want money, but I want something else," she twirled the knife in her hand and grinned.

Arthur felt himself gulping and taking another glimpse at the knife, "Pray, do tell." He attempted to keep away from her as much as possible, keeping out of charging distance, keeping out of the knife's distance. But he assumed that she wanted to speak first, so he felt he could buy time until France came over to… That's right, Francis couldn't come over anymore. He couldn't "save him from the lonely silent nights" as he used to say, couldn't save him from…from this.

"I want," she swung her knife behind her, making sure not to cause the Englishman to run away just yet, "to see all who lived such wonderful lives off of me squirming around, gasping for life." Arthur gave her a cold stare.

She continued, "I want to see fear in their eyes, I want to break the hearts that they were so absorbed in while ignoring me. I want them to see me, the one they ignored for such a long time…" Her voice seemed to echo in Arthur's mind, as well as the commercial playing on the TV. "Such a long time," she repeated, looking dreamily off into nothing, "I want them to see me as the last person they saw in their life, the one they paid no attention to. I want all the fish to know I hold the rod!"

With a swift movement she sliced at Arthur, who quickly fell to his knees to avoid the attack. He hurriedly tried to crawl away, finding it for naught as Seychelles stabbed into his leg, causing his to freeze in pain.

"I want all the fish to know that they're the one's falling into my traps! I want them to know that although they didn't take the first bait," the knife plunged into Arthur's back, and with a loud gasp, he fainted, "I have other things in store for them." Seychelles stood and stared at the body below her. In a quick moment of anger, she kicked at him and turned away, "Oh it's just not fun if you faint. Maybe I'll torment you until you kill yourself. That would be fun."

The nonexistent reply she received caused her to shiver, "You know Arthur, I think you'd be better off with Francis in hell, oui? Don't you think that would be better? I can end you now and you wouldn't know it."

She stared at the man, looking as if he were sleeping, and having a nightmare. She figured that she could take him out as he was at peace. It would be a bit crueler any way. She stooped down by his ear and adjusted her voice, holding her hands close to her mouth.

"Angleterre," she started to say in the manliest voice that she could conjure up, "Je t'aime, Angleterre."

Arthur began to stir, "F-Francis?"

"Oui," Seychelles mimicked the Frenchman again, readying her knife, "it looks like we're going to be together forever after all."

The heavily-browed man smiled a bit, "That's fine with me…Francis."

"Good," Seychelles ended her act and ripped through Arthur's shirt and skin, the blade digging deep into his body. As he uttered a scream, she couldn't help but grin from ear to ear. It was like cutting up a fish.

The proper way to prepare a fish was to cut it right down the middle, take out its innards, then wash it out under water. Afterwards, you stored them with ice or in a refrigerator depending on your location. Seychelles considered doing the same to Arthur, but she figured her knife wasn't sharp enough.

She pulled at Arthur's arm, exposing his skin from under his clothes. She felt his body twitch as she held her cold blade to his arm, and almost without a second to spare, she began sawing at it, down to the bone. Seychelles heard him let out a pained sigh, "Not dead yet Arthur?" She received no reply. She figured the sound was the famous last breath.

She continued running her blade on his bones, blood dripping around the steel, yet pouring down the skin and staining the floor. Seychelles ripped the knife from his skin and examined it. The sharpness was the same, but in her mind there was a satisfying difference, and with a nod, she forced the blade into Arthur skull with much effort, digging it in as far as she could. Yanking the knife back out and almost hitting herself in the face, she sunk the knife back into him, trailing it down until she hit some tough tissue.

With a quick jerk, she cut through it, though she ended up cutting finger in the process. Becoming irate, she chopped at Arthur's backside before whimpering and going at the cutting down the middle plan again.

A pause came upon Seychelles as she took note of the television. It was still on, and they were saying that there was breaking news; Belgium was innocent, and they were going to start checking on Francis' territories.

"Well that's not me anymore," she reassured herself.

The newscaster on the channel continued to go on endlessly about the new agenda, "We're going to speak to Canada as well. Though he's not under France anymore and hasn't been for some time, we might find a motive through him. If not, there are many others that were once under France that we'd like to speak to as well. Tomorrow we're going to invade the privacy of England." Seychelles perked up at this, tomorrow they'll come here? Tomorrow they'll see this?

"Our crew is on their way there now," the newscaster confirmed.

"Fish piss!" Seychelles yelled, dashing for the TV. She picked it up, and to her surprise, it was very heavy. She wobbled over to Arthur and waited only a second before dropping it on him, smashing his head in. She took the knife and ran off into the night, heading for the closet body of water that she could wash herself off in.

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**_A/N: The moral of the story is not to kill fish! Save the wildlife! Fight the power! :U_**

**_I really wanted to kill off everyone. I was going to end it with either Egypt or England NOT dying. They're not favorites of mine or anything, although this is writing a lot from England's point of view sort of. _**


	3. Fish Bones

Night's freezing breath ran along Ludwig's face as he shuffled through his keys, looking for which one locked his office building's door.

"I'm surprised you haven't color coded your keys, sir," Toris stated, pulling his jacket on. Ludwig shook his head, finally finding the right key. He quickly twisted the key into the lock and went off down the street with the brunette following behind.

"Interesting case huh?" Toris asked, sniffling a little. He was getting a little sick because of all the night air he had been exposed to as of recently, but he didn't bother with it much.

"Less interesting and more depressing," Ludwig mumbled.

"I know…well at least…at least we know who did it. We just have to jail them, and then Francis and Arthur won't have to worry and rest in peace."

Ludwig nodded, "Two funerals in a short time leads for a capture in the end. Murderers like to believe they're the perfect killers, they think that they'll never get caught, but when they think that, they start to leave evidence."

"She left her fingerprints all over-oh my, didn't Matthew's face just break your heart? I thought I'd cry for sure."

"You did cry," Ludwig searched his keys again for his cars keys as they made their way to it.

"Ah! No that was just…I thought of something else is all. A-Any way, Alfred was pretty upset too," Toris hopped in the passenger seat of the car after the door unlocked, "can we turn on the heater?"

"It'll take a while for it to turn on, it's been out of whack for a while now," Ludwig started up the engine, setting the temperature to something reasonable for when the heater really did start up.

"Eh heh, German cars…"

Toris received a glare from the German before they took off.

At the police station, Matthew and Alfred stood waiting for the two detectives to walk in. Upon their arrival, they were directed to another room and told to sit at the table and wait.

"We'll bring the culprit in shortly," Toris smiled.

"Why did he smile? Sick bastard," Alfred muttered.

"He was trying to be nice, Al," Matthew whispered back.

"I wonder who the hell would do this…"

"I don't know," Matthew looked down into his lap. He had a growing suspicion that it was Antonio. Though he had cried like a woman with Gilbert at Francis' funeral, he couldn't stop rolling his eyes and frowning a bit whenever someone said something good about Arthur. Maybe there were two murderers?

The door opened slightly, "Make sure it's secure."

"Boys," Toris poked his head in, "so we um… have our culprit here."

Ludwig closed the door then came in alone, "Before the culprit comes in, we have some questions for you two."

The two nodded.

Ludwig sat down across from them, "Who do you think killed Francis and Arthur?"

The boys looked at each other almost simultaneously.

"Don't discuss it between each other, tell me what each of you think," the German explained.

"Antonio," Matthew said a bit too loudly.

Ludwig jumped a bit, "And Alfred?"

Alfred frowned, "I think a gang came a decided to catch fire to their houses but they got hungry so they-"

"Stop there. Next question," Ludwig stopped to sigh and run his fingers through his hair in a somewhat nervous fit, "Do you know where Seychelles was in the last couple of days?"

The boys looked at each other in confusion, thinking of how she could relate to any of this.

"Probably at home I'd guess," Matthew piped up, "I talked to her on the phone before Francis died. She seemed okay."

"Fishing some place," Alfred shrugged, "I was over this year at least. She never leaves. But I've been too busy to visit a lot."

Ludwig pulled out a small stapled packet, "They found her washing in a river…the River Thames. She had quite a bit of blood on her and a knife with her."

"Wait…she was in Connecticut?" Alfred exclaimed.

"No! River Thames! In England! I said River Thames not Thames River!"

Alfred smiled, then quickly frowned as he heard Matthew gasp.

"Oh gosh, then that means…she was with Arthur possibly," Matthew whispered.

Ludwig nodded, "We're pretty certain, especially since we found her fingerprints on the television that was on him."

Matthew leaned forward, eyes wide. His brother mimicked him, but instead of remaining quiet, he gripped at the table and yelled, "She killed him!"

"Remain calm; we want to see if she feels compelled to tell you her motive. She refuses to tell us," Ludwig scratched his head and took another glance at the small packet, "the only problem with sealing the deal on this is that she doesn't really have a reason to do any of this."

"Because she's a crazy little bitch that's what!" Alfred shouted, shooting up from his chair.

"Sit down! Al, we need to be calm," Matthew himself was almost on the verge of tears, "B-But why would she tell us, sir?"

"Well, she said something, 'Now Mattie and Allie have plenty of room to grow' or something along those lines. We found it interesting that she would mention you two."

Matthew nodded, rubbing Alfred's hand, "Calm." His brother nodded to him.

"I'll bring her in now then," Ludwig got up and opened the door, motioning for whoever was outside to come in. Toris, with his hands on her shoulders, led Seychelles in. She wore a wicked smile with her hands cuffed behind her back. They had expected her walk in as an innocent, but she walked in as a criminal.

"Hello Mattie, Allie," she chuckled.

Alfred stood up rushing over to her before he was stopped by Matthew, who held onto his arm and attempted to pull him away from her.

"You spiteful bitch!" he yelled, struggling to get out of Matthew's grasp.

Ludwig and Toris stood in front of Seychelles for the sake of nothing happening to the accused before a fair trial.

"What the fuck is your problem? Why the fuck would you do that you sick freak? Do you enjoy cutting people into pieces huh?"

"Al! Al calm down!" Matthew shouted, trying to have him sit down again.

"Alfred, we can't have this! The motive!" Ludwig reminded him of the reason why they were in the room with the culprit.

Alfred took a few breaths, then sat down, looking away from everyone, "Fine."

"Matthew, I'll leave you in control of Alfred, remember your mission," Ludwig started, "We'll be watching from another room. And…" He cuffed his ears and pointed to them to signal that he would be recording them from the room as well. He didn't note that Toris would be outside their door, but he would be there for if any more ruckus was heard. Matthew nodded and nudged Alfred, "Be good, Al."

"Whatever," Alfred sighed, turning his attention to Seychelles again.

There was silence for a while, until Seychelles smirked, "Bonjour kids."

"Don't use that fucking language with me, speak some damn English if you're talking to me," Alfred's voice started to rise with each word.

"Okay Alfred, whatever you say," Seychelles let out a quick 'tee-hee' and crossed her legs, "now I suppose Ludi wants me to tell you what my motive was."

"I suppose he does. But I don't think you'll tell us, will you?" Matthew asked.

"Oh, I will. For you two, I'll do so, if you ask the right questions," she said.

Alfred inhaled and leaned back in his seat, "So why'd you do it?"

"Too straight-forward."

Matthew fiddled his thumbs, "Did you not like Francis and Arthur?"

Seychelles grinned widely, "I loved Francey! Remember? Arthur is something else."

"If you loved him them why did you kill him?" Alfred asked.

"Who said I killed him?"

"My senses are saying you did, now answer the question."

There was another pause of silence, "Do you know how long it's been since Francey has visited me?"

Matthew attempted to calculate the years, but really he didn't know. No one knew. "I don't know?"

"A very long time, Mattie."

"So? What's that have to do with shit?" Alfred asked.

Seychelles frowned, "Well I just thought that since he wasn't seeing me anymore, then I should be the last person he saw."

The brothers glanced at each other, mauling that over for a while. "Arthur too I guess huh?" Alfred asked.

"Uh huh," Seychelles verified.

"So this isn't about getting inheritance is it?" Matthew questioned. "Really, if that's what you wanted we would have been glad to give you anything-"

"I didn't want money," she began, "but one other thing I wanted to see is you two."

"Dead? What, you wanted us to see you last also? Geez what's your problem?" Alfred scoffed.

"No, I wanted you two to have Francey and Arthur's wealth."

There was more silence. "Uh…why?" Matthew finally asked.

"I wanted you two to take their place. You two wouldn't ignore me…would you?"

The brothers stared at her, "What?"

"Mattie, you called me recently, Allie, you visited me not so long ago."

"Yes, I called," Matthew blinked and took a long look at Alfred, who also looked confused.

"I…visited, yeah," Alfred started, "Sey that's… so you wanted to be seen this whole damn time?"

"Mattie understands! He's always looked over! No one even knows me! Mattie! You know right?"

"Sey, that's no excuse! That's not an excuse at all!" Matthew shouted, becoming unnerved.

"It is Matt! It is!" Seychelles yelled, standing up with difficulty due to her handcuffs and rushing over to fall into Matthew's arms. However, Matthew would not take this and held her away from himself before she could hit the floor, "That's not a reason at all! You killed my Papa! Killed my Dad because you were lonely? Because you were ignored?"

"Yes! And it's a good reason!" Seychelles screamed.

"Damn it, how many of you are like this?" Alfred mumbled. How many of his kind were overshadowed like this?

"You're a selfish selfish selfish fiend Sey! A selfish devil! Stay away from me! That's not an excuse at all! That's not an excuse!" Matthew screamed back. Toris slammed open the door right before Matthew slapped Seychelles hard across the face, sending her sprawling to the floor. He ran out of the room sobbing, and Toris just watched on. Alfred stood to take his leave as well. Before he left, he looked down at Seychelles for a while, gloom covering his face.

"I'm sorry, Sey," he started to head out the door before turning back around to pick her up and sit her down in a chair.

"Don't touch me! You don't know," she cried out between tears.

"Hey, no one gives a shit about your loneliness so shut up about it," he began, "but Mattie and I, we'll visit you, wherever you are from this point, no matter what you say."

"Go away!" she yelled.

"Keeping my word! See ya!" Alfred then ran out of the room to catch up with his brother, quickly waving to Toris before he did.

Toris waited for a while, watching Seychelles sit there and cry. Ludwig came back into the room, "We'll see how the trial goes. Let's take her down to the temporary cell."

Toris nodded and grabbed hold of Seychelles softly, "Let's go ma'am. You admit to the murders of Francis and Arthur yes? Anyone we've forgotten?"

She nodded. "Ah? Who?" Ludwig asked.

"Me."

_**A/N: So what have we leaaaaarned? **_

_**Any way, I'm done. I didn't know I was going to add another chapter. Seriously. This was a somewhat serious fic I suppose. I usually write hah hah happy things so this was…uh…nice?**_


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